


promise i’ll be drinking all your lemonade

by childrenbehave



Series: Punk'd By Feelings [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenbehave/pseuds/childrenbehave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘I’m still never pranking anyone ever again; the aftermath is too stressful.’  ‘You say that now, Payne.’ Louis jumps up into the car and grins at him. Liam looks at him - their eyes are nearly on a level and Liam’s ducking his head so he’s still looking through his eyelashes - and looks a tiny bit coy. ‘That right?’ </p><p>[Things get out of hand in the "prank war" where everything is fine and no one has any feelings, until they do, which is an entirely different problem. Luckily, they’re surrounded by helpful friends. Um, "helpful friends".]</p>
            </blockquote>





	promise i’ll be drinking all your lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this one got out of hand. And was almost titled: ‘I'm going to steal your lemonade because you clearly want me to steal it and drink it and then you'll have three pints and kiss me’ but that got too long.

The internet never forgets: they learnt that lesson hard and fast early on in their whirlwind rise to international popstar status. When Liam starts his driving lessons, they’re almost surprised that immediately after there’s very pointed commentary about the fact that when he pulled the Punk’d prank, he drove Louis’s Porsche without a driving licence for five bloody minutes. It’s still the best bloody thing Liam has ever done, if you ask Louis. It got him, um, _them_ on _Top Gear._

Predictably, Liam automatically tenses up every time it’s mentioned, blushing furiously and looking like he’s committed the greatest wrong since Ribena Light. He mutters apologies and things like ‘never pranking anyone ever again.’ 

It makes Louis furious. Maybe very, very cross. No, wait, furious, he’s sticking to it, because it’s taken Louis (and the lads) two sodding years to get Liam to the point where he plots incredibly elaborate televised pranks just for laughs and they are ruining his hard work. 

He hates when Liam gets that sad, closed up, ‘I’ve-let-everyone-down’ look on his face, especially when he _hasn’t._ So what if he drove Louis’s car for five minutes during a prank. It’s Liam. It’s not like he was ever going to do donuts in the streets of London just because. It’s _Liam_ , and sometimes Louis wishes he _would_ just so Louis could see the looks on their faces. Liam probably felt more guilty than half the world when he was pulling the prank anyway. (He did. Louis has seen the video evidence and it involved actual nail biting. It’s saved on his computer.)

That’s why the next time some radio jockey brings up the issue in the I’m So Clever and Snarky way Louis has come to barely tolerate, he jumps in before Liam can give his soft, mumbly, _apologetic_ answer. 

‘I always found that particularly brilliant of him. Really added an extra layer to the whole situation that I, for one, applaud him for. Liam Payne, rebel without a cause, who would have known?’

Next to him Harry snorts and nods as if to tell him he very much approves of Louis’s answer. Harry, smart lad. Louis pets his head, absently, but keeps his attention on Liam, who’s been gaping - adorably so - at him since he started talking over him. Louis raises an eyebrow. Liam blinks, picks up the cue and grins, winking. (That wink is going to get so many YouTube hits, Louis thinks absently.)

‘Well, I wouldn’t say without a cause.’ 

‘Cheeky!’ Louis wags his finger at Liam and nudges Zayn, who nudges Liam, complete with extra head rub. Pay it forward, lads, as they should. 

The radio announcer laughs, clearly satisfied with 100%-patented One Direction banter and physical affection that will get his show and the web video link more hits than they’ve gotten in the last month. (Radio interviews had started to feel like being sold a lemon when they started filming every single one of them, if Louis is honest. What’s the point of the radio part if they can’t stumble in wearing pyjama bottoms with their hair sticking up every which way?)

Yes, Louis is well aware that’s a shitty thing to think, that they’re being somehow been manipulated into being themselves on air, but for a second there Liam looked ashamed of one the greatest things that’s happened to Louis. Thinking his car had been crushed had sucked, but it hadn’t been, it had been Liam _pranking_ him and because of that they had gone on Top Gear. _Top Gear!_. If he thinks it enough times it really happened. 

But what everyone was pulling lately was just _not done:_ only Louis and the lads can embarrass Liam. Band rules.

As they’re walking out after the interview there’s not that many paps - he should talk to Liam about starting Pap of the Week again - but they can all hear the familiar clicks of camera shutters. Liam slips an arm around Louis’s shoulders and bumps their heads together. Louis curls his fingers around Liam’s waist and hip checks him.

‘I’m still never pranking anyone ever again; the aftermath is too stressful.’

‘You say that now, Payne.’

Louis jumps up into the car and grins at him. Liam looks at him - their eyes are nearly on a level and Liam’s ducking his head so he’s still looking through his eyelashes - and looks a tiny bit coy. ‘That right?’

Louis laughs, just because. 

-

Two days later _The Guardian_ is riled into grudgingly caring about a boyband’s antics by a Jan Moir column in the _Daily Mail_. Louis goes out, in his pyjamas, buys a pint of milk and a physical copy of the paper, then gets in Niall’s new Land Rover with a wave to the paps to go to Liam’s. Let them come after _him_ about driving cars that aren’t his, and if they care so much, he’s bloody well on Niall’s insurance already. It’s Niall’s fault. He left it there to crash on Louis’s sofa, so he can call a taxi or come and find it. He lets himself in at Liam’s with the key that’s sat on his keyring since Liam bought the place and puts the article on the fridge, New York magnet and Japan magnet holding it up. 

-

@Louis_Tomlinson: if you’re not up and looking at your fridge door in fifteen minutes I’m putting conditioner on your feet @Real_Liam_Payne

-

He could have just texted, he supposes, but he’s a wanker like that, and watching the internet blow up on a sleepy Sunday morning is his favourite kind of fun. 

-

Liam hears the chirping noise that is his phone and slaps it groggily. The thing about touchscreens is that it’s really easy to turn off your alarm. It’s _Sunday._ He’s pretty sure he doesn’t care about whatever it is. And after the interviews this week, he wants a duvet day like he’s not wanted one in a while. 

Unless it’s something important. 

What if it’s something important? Or something’s happened? 

Or it’s his family or the lads or something? 

And then he didn’t check and went back to sleep and he’s haunted forever by the message he didn’t read in time?

He checks the phone. It’s easier than worrying about it and it’s not like he wants Hollywood coincidences in his life in a _bad_ way. 

_Bloody Louis._ He should have stayed under the duvet. Not that it would have done much, considering Louis just threatened to jump on his bed if he didn’t get up which means... Oh. Bloody Louis. He’s going to want tea. 

-

‘Morning, sunshine!’

Louis wishes he were recording this because he’s pretty sure Liam Payne just swore at him. Under his breath and without any actual bite to it, but still. _Adorable_.

‘Is this what I’ve been missing, sleeping in while you lot get up and jog? If someone had told me I’d get to see you _swearing_ -’

Liam sinks onto the couch with a groan and passes him another cup of tea. Louis takes a second to marvel that even a non-verbal Liam can be arsed making him a cuppa after he lets himself in. He is the best of lads, really. He rubs his hand over Liam’s head as thanks and because it’s so _soft_ and nice.

‘You didn’t check the fridge, did you? After I braved the elements -’

‘It’s sunny.’

‘How would you know? You haven’t opened your bloody curtains yet!’ Liam holds up his phone, and what is the world coming to, that people check the weather on an app rather than opening their curtains? Louis will fix this another time. He has bigger problems. ‘Anyway, I braved the elements and got you an actual paper and milk. You’re welcome.’

‘I had milk.’

‘Sure you did, but when they run the pictures of me on Sugarscape, I had a classic prop.’ He pokes him in the knee. ‘Check your fridge door.’

Liam gives him a look of actual suspicion and shuffles to his feet, Buzz Lightyear spaceboot slippers making sulky sounds against the laminate flooring. The cup of steaming tea doesn’t leave his hands and he pulls his hood up. Louis takes a sip of tea to stop himself from smiling. It doesn’t quite work. Oh well.

Louis pulls his legs up onto the sofa and sips his tea patiently. This is possibly the nicest prank he’s pulled in his life, he thinks, disgusted, but the anticipation is almost as good as that time he replaced all of Harry’s boxers with bright pink and Disney-themed ones two weeks into one of their first tours. (It backfired spectacularly: Harry loved them and asked what the early birthday present was all about. Then he _wore them_ all the time with his jeans deliberately low. Louis chalks it up to a learning curve. Still, he doesn’t mind doing an accidentally nice thing, or even, it appears, doing a nice thing on purpose every now and again.)

He sits the tea down as he hears a whooping laugh from the kitchen and digs his phone out of his own hoodie pocket, and waits.

-

@Real_Liam_Payne: check it out @Louis_Tomlinson RT @guardian Can We All Stop Talking About Liam Payne Driving For Five Minutes -  
guardian.co.uk/culture/one-direction-to-over-it

-

Liam comes back with his laptop out, grinning, and talking about making eggs on toast or the like, then contorts himself into the corner of the sofa that’s next to Louis and points at the screen excitedly. Louis leans over to reread the article next to him. 

‘I knew they had to have some reason to let me do it but then I thought we’d flown them over and maybe they didn’t know how it works over here-’

Louis grins and holds his hand out for high five, knowing Liam will go for a fist bump. It’s turned into a bit of a thing. 

‘Texted Harry, he’s bringing the eggs, and probably his own frying pan.’ Liam rolls his eyes at that, muttering about his being a bit dusty but _fine._

The article is all about how utterly ridiculous it was for the media to have a shitstorm in a teacup over Liam driving the Porsche around a single corner when the studio - and ergo the cars, the crane and the small army of security - is very, very much on privately held land, care of Syco. Which, granted, is unusual and expensive in a way Louis can’t imagine even after two years in the band, but it’s not like _Simon Fucking Cowell_ was building on a budget. From there, it’s a long and sleepy digression onto the subject of thirteen year old kids driving tractors on farmland and some positive comments on Liam’s character that translate from _Guardian_ -speak to ‘not as much of an idiot as his bandmates, probably, according to all that research we totally did, honest.’ 

Louis pinches Liam when he goes to scroll down further. ‘Not a chance, nope, band rules, remember?’

Liam flushes. ‘But-’

‘Yeah, this paper’s as bad as the rest below the line, don’t even go there,’ Louis says, and claims the laptop before Liam can get to the first comment. 

-

Harry lets himself in with his key, canvas bag slung over his shoulder in a way that makes Louis wonder if there’s going to be any eggs left unbroken. Louis remembers when Liam, the first of them to actually buy a place with the intention of staying in it, had pointedly, blushingly given them keys and told them he didn’t mind people dropping by. 

Harry had bounced up and down and put his on his keyring immediately, Zayn had looked unsurprised but quietly pleased, where Louis and Niall had hesitated. Liam had excused himself to make the tea and Harry had said, ‘We grew up with Friends as an aim. Do not ruin this for us.’ 

Louis had looked to Zayn, for reasons he hadn’t fathomed at the time, while that was enough for Niall, who’d picked up his key with a shrug that said it wasn’t the first place he had a spare for. Zayn wasn’t looking at him, though: he was looking off at the the corner of a poster on the kitchen door, where the pin was far enough from the corner that the poster’s thick paper had room to curl. It’s the kind of imperfection that would drive an interior decorator mad, if one had been allowed near the place. 

Harry had shouted over his shoulder, ‘Liam! Do you happen to know if the flats across the hall are empty, because I rather I like the area. Did you know there are popstars in your midst? I find that very cool.’ 

Liam had laughed and said, ‘Would you be Not So Ugly Naked Guy then?’ Harry had beamed because Liam _got him_ and Louis had stuck the key onto his keyring, shouting about how he hoped Liam didn’t regret this when they ate him out of house and home and invaded with ideas about spoons. (In the end they had to bring their own for cereal and when Harry felt like making soup. None of them minded and Liam hasn’t thrown them out.)

Watching as Harry makes his way to Liam’s kitchen to start pulling out all his cooking materials and puttering around the kitchen like he’s done this before Louis bites his lips, considering. He doesn’t want to frown, but there’s this squirmy feeling in his chest at the idea of Harry feeling at home in Liam’s kitchen. Which is ridiculous, Harry know all their kitchens better than they do, but Louis had forgotten where Liam kept the sugar for his tea (blasphemous, really, but it is nice to know Liam isn’t perfect. Sugar, in tea, _some people_ ) and, well. It’s on the cupboard over the kettle, thank you very much. Sensible, really. Not like Louis who keeps his sugar near the cereals, not at all near his kettle. 

Liam turns on the sofa and rest his chin on the back. ‘You find everything okay, Hazza?’

‘Did Louis buy you milk? You already had!’

Louis and Liam turn to each other and bite back a fit of giggles, and Louis knows they’re both thinking the same thing: they spend too much time together. Except, not really.

‘I didn’t know! I was out. How was I supposed to know Liam would have?’

Harry just pokes his head out of the kitchen with a look and okay, fair enough. It’s Liam. Who nudges Louis’s thigh a bit like _told you so_ and a bit like _you know I don’t mind, it’s extra milk_. Louis throws his legs over him and leans against the arm of the sofa. Of course he doesn’t mind; Louis doesn’t just buy milk for just anyone.

‘So call the others for breakfast?’

Liam already has his phone out so Louis pulls out his and dials Zayn. Let’s see whose call gets through first.

-

The front door slams open and Liam rolls his eyes but doesn’t even get up. Louis grabs the nearest magazine, rolls it up and runs down the length of the living room to storm the front hall like he’s about to take on the intruder. Niall grabs him around the middle and the momentum takes them both onto the floor, Niall shouting obscenities about car theft and baiting the fucking paps, but he’s laughing, probably because Louis had the decency to text him about it - after he’d thoroughly altered the digital radio’s shortcuts while he was bored at a red light. 

Zayn is holding on to a doorframe to laugh, taking a cup from Harry with a poke at his cheek and a ‘don’t mind if I do.’ Harry grins and turns back to the kitchen, audibly suggesting that this would be going quicker if anyone - _anyone in the whole world_ \- thought to help him. They don’t, because not only is he vicious with his claws in the kitchen, he doesn’t mean it even a bit, and they’re largely immune to that particular Poor Harry-special-tone. (They’re not, but they like to think it, and life in the public eye is sometimes a big game of two truths and a lie, guess which is which, as far as Louis is concerned.)

Louis directs Zayn and Niall to the article posted on the fridge. Zayn’s eyes soften on Liam which tells Louis that he hadn’t been the only one to notice how uncomfortable Liam’s been lately. Zayn proceeds to pull Liam into the cutest headlock ever. Then he and the others retweet Liam’s tweet because sometimes they’re all bastards. It’s kinda nice to see. The Top Gear guys, Sheeran, Perrie and Beiber getting in on it are a bonus but it’s nice to know they have friends. 

Louis’s chest practically hums with pride. 

-

In the next interview, Liam tenses up just as the interviewer asks how his driving lessons are going. He gives them his standard answer of ‘fine’, because they are, and then there’s no follow up question about the whole Porsche thing. Something in him unknots. Over Niall’s shoulder Liam meets Louis’s eyes: he’s not surprised Louis had been looking for his reaction. Liam can’t help the fond look he sends back.

The interviewer moves on to Harry and while the press all know better than to ask about the Taylor thing, some like pushing the envelope, trying to get reactions from them. Liam still slides his hand into Harry’s curls just in case. It’s been a rough few months for all of them. He doesn’t miss how Harry relaxes a bit, pressed against Zayn’s side and pulls out his dimples to completely charm the interviewer away from the point. 

It’s one of the better interviews they’ve had in weeks. 

All their limbs get tangled so thoroughly at one point that when they stand from the couch there’s a real moment of fear and Liam thinks they’re going to stumble onto the floor in a pile. 

Like he said, one of their better interviews. 

-

They decide to have lunch at Nando’s in honour of well, just a good day all around so far. It’s near enough to the studio where they had the interview that they’ve been to this one before but not often enough for the staff to shrug it off. It doesn’t help that there are approximately 72 branches of Nando’s in London, with sixteen in Central London alone. 

Niall knows this, because Niall secretly wants to be the first person to get the Employee of the Month award at Nando’s without working there. It is secret because the company might actually give it to him if they knew. The company might actually start doing Employee of the Month awards just to give him one, if they didn’t already. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that’s happened to them: there’s a Pizza Hut in Glasgow that (literally) has Harry’s name on the menu. 

Ah, fame. 

The hostess is a pretty girl who absolutely knows who they are and is equally determined not to mention it. Louis feels like a kid at the gates of Buckingham Palace trying to make a guard smile.

‘Would you like to sit in or take away?’

‘Sit in,’ they chorus. 

‘Do you have any children with you?’

She’s all innocence and sometimes, _sometimes,_ Louis really fucking loves people. He’s passed an armful of slowly blinking Harry, who’s pushed forwardly sharply, helped by a giggling Liam and Zayn’s elbow. Niall is reading the menu like it may have changed in the many days since he was last in a Nando’s. Louis isn’t sure they’d dare.

‘Yes, we have a child with us,’ he answers, grinning for all he’s worth and shushing the lads at his back with a mock frown. Harry’s rolling his eyes but flicking his fringe, then smiles through his eyelashes and Louis swears everyone in the restaurant - or the hemisphere - coos. 

They’re seated with multiple versions of the paper placemats and enough packs of free crayons to suggest someone remembers the last time they visited. Niall says this, pleased, and Liam looks slightly queasy. ‘I hope it wasn’t the time you had the fight with the -’

‘-fake paper lightsabers?’

‘-squeezy bottle noises?’

‘-kid who wanted to arm wrestle us all on his sister’s birthday?’

Liam refuses to finish his sentence on the grounds that they’d be there all day listing One Direction to Mayhem incidents but he’s grinning and nudging Louis, who is probably to blame for half of those events in general. 

Louis rubs his hand over Liam’s buzzcut as he says, ‘Well, no harm done, right? And we weren’t half bad for making up a five-part harmony version of Happy Birthday.’ 

He remembers that one particularly well. It had been a very late lunch out of the recording studio, which had been feeling smaller and smaller all day, the tension getting wound a bit tighter every time they had a run in with a producer. Louis remembers Liam’s hand finding the inside of his wrist whenever they were both waiting to record, one big thumb flat against his skin, light as anything and cool for all the heat in the booth. 

They usually got on so well with the production team, the management team, the rest, but it was like all the little things they were ever going to disagree about had come up on the same day: this song acoustic vs with a pulsing bass beat, this track to start or for three-quarters of the way through, this harmony line on the third chorus or the second. 

It had been especially unexpected because it was the first time Louis remembered Liam really grabbing him without deliberating about it for ten minutes first. When an email came in about a meeting about the cover that would clash with a recording session where they were going to hash out the track order, Liam had put his head back against the wall and groaned at the same time as Louis had sworn under his breath and stabbed at his Blackberry with cruel intentions. They’d realised they had to get the lads - and themselves - out of there for a bit. 

Then they’d had a kid, about twelve and cocky as hell, come bounding up to them and demand an arm wrestling match. It still makes Louis a bit tight in the chest, thinking about how _bloody decent_ his best mates are, that they hadn’t laughed. Instead, Zayn, Niall and Harry had made a space for the boy - Aaron - at the table so he could take them on in turns, and Liam had nudged Louis to where the boy had come running from. 

A few tables over, a kid who could only be the boy’s sister was looking between their table and the empty seat at her own. She was wearing a football top, a trembling lip and a birthday hat. Before he’d known where he was, Louis was sitting next to her and cheering her on while Liam let her win an arm wrestling match of her own. Then her mum had asked if they’d sing happy birthday, and they had, and they’d piled in around the table with the two kids and the cake for a ton of photos. They’d been two hours late back to the studio, but come back grinning and laughing, and the relief in the room had been so palpable nobody had said a word about their time-keeping, for once, and they’d recorded through the night. 

Louis remembers that part less, now he’s thinking about it, and more how he’d gotten cuffed around the neck by Liam - for the first time _ever._ Louis had stood quietly for too long, hands loose and still, looking at the table with the small party of a seven year old girl, her brother and her mum. Liam had put two hands on his shoulders and pushed him into his seat with, ‘Lucy, this is Louis, and he’s _much_ stronger than I am, so you’re going to have to try really hard to win, all right?’ 

And the only reason that Louis hadn’t rolled his eyes - aside from crushing a little girl’s dreams - is that it had not been the first time that Liam had done something like this. To this day, the twins believe that Louis is stronger than Liam, who always, always lets him win their arm wrestling matches when the girls visit and he has to uphold his Best Big Brother Ever status. 

He gets cuffed around the neck again, for the fifty billionth time by Liam, in the Nando’s when it’s pointed out he’s taking years to order his food, and what’s he staring at anyway? Louis orders his usual, which they could have just done _for_ him, the inconsiderate bastards, and starts a game where they have to claim as many crayons as they can from the middle before he can snap them, points for a full set of one of each colour. 

(Zayn wins.)

-

Louis is bored, rich, three hours away from his sisters with only a couple of free hours to kill and the memory of that Nando’s trip still pulling his shoulders together. He texts Harry to meet him at the Disney Store and bring him a spare hat. He wants the package home to beat the pictures of him buying it going on the internet. 

-

Liam finds the Buzz Lightyear doll - his Buzz Lightyear doll? - on the piano when he gets to the studio. Going over to pick it up he huffs out a laugh as he sees his face stuck on in front of Buzz’s. 

‘Really funny,’ he says, loudly, because Louis would never be too far away from a moment like this. He’s proven right when Louis jumps out from the other side of the glass of the sound booth and practically skips over to him, latching one arm around Liam’s neck. Liam can’t help but smile.

‘Get it, Buzzzzzzz, because of,’ he says rubbing his hand over Liam’s head. Liam rolls his eyes, because yes, he got it. 

‘I was at the Disney Store the other day buying stuff for the twins, they’re very into _Brave_ right now,’ - ‘Of course.’ - ‘and I saw it and thought of you even though I know you have one and Woody is your favourite, but...’

Liam raises a hand to cover Louis’s that’s hanging loosely by his collarbone and squeezes. Louis squeezes back. ‘Thank you, it’s great. It’s also ridiculous, and I don’t even know where you got the sticker--’

‘Did you know that there are sticker packets of our faces? Fizz let me know about it so she could enjoy telling me that Daisy covered her folders with ones of Niall, the tiny traitor, so I asked her to send me some.’ 

‘Of course you did.’

Louis pouts, and it should be rendered illegal, that pout. ‘Do you not like how I made you into a proper action figure superhero, Lee-am?’ Liam lifts the Liam!Buzz back up and pokes Louis’s nose with it’s face (his face?).

‘Didn’t I already say thank you?’

‘Oh, yeah, that’s right, you did,’ Louis beams and then smiles slowly, ‘Replay! This time with more enthusiasm!’

Maybe the full body tackle was uncalled for, but Louis is laughing so who’s really complaining. 

-

Liam is thinking about texting Jay to find out where he can get some of those stickers, which aren’t creepy at all but honestly his Buzz face follows him around the room with its - his - eyes when he’s tired. He doesn’t have to: they come in the post, young person handwriting on the outside of the envelope and glitter on the inside. There’s a handwritten note that he swears is from one of Louis’s sisters suggesting he might need them and that all games should start fairly. 

Which isn’t worrying at all. 

He texts Jay to pass on his thanks. When she replies ‘for what?,’ he replies as vaguely as he absolutely can and puts a card signed by Niall in the post, then starts thinking about what to do with first.

The thing is that the Buzz toy is sort of thoughtful, which he’s always known Louis is capable of when he can dress it up as something else, but if there’s one thing Liam is crap at, it’s aiming pranks for the sweet bit between laughing at someone and pleasing them because you know something about them worth gently prodding. The thought of erring too far on the wrong - like he thought he had with the Punk’d trick - makes him wince. 

And for all Louis gives him a weirdly proud smile with surprised wide eyes whenever he says anything less than kind, Liam doesn’t think he’d love it if he got properly good at pranks, because then he’d have no excuse to spend time teaching Liam how to be better at it, and Louis likes imparting wisdom like that. Come to think of it, Liam doesn’t like that idea much either. 

Then he finds the sticker of Louis’s face on the nose of one of his hats, the woolly one with the panda face, and realises he’s gone from his flat to the studio _wearing it_ in the drizzle, and it only seems like an appropriate response to sneak up behind Louis and shove the cold, damp panda nose on the back of his neck. 

Louis jumps four feet in the air and the sticker gets stuck there on the back of his neck for the next three hours, which says a lot about the lads as they must have seen it too, and he pulls it off in the middle of a recording session, but he keeps going with his verse and makes the _best_ faces, singing the verse with his eyes on Liam through the glass and something bright, calculating and happy in them. 

Liam is never going to be able to sing or listen to that track of theirs, especially now they’ve won the battle on smoothing their voices out so much, without hearing the slight hiccup of suppressed laughter on the bridge and thinking, _I made that happen._

-

Louis looks at the itinerary for the next two days and winces. They don’t really get to have sleeping patterns or regular weeks, so much as regular _coping mechanisms_ , even though there’s nowhere else they’d rather be 99.9% of the time. 

There’s a chin on his left shoulder and a hiss in his ear. ‘Well, that’s a sodding Liam special if ever I saw, yeah?’

Louis nods and reaches up to pat the side of Zayn’s head in agreement. The sticker of Harry’s grinning face that he transfers from the back of his phone (what? Be prepared isn’t just a motto for Girl Guides and Scouts) to the centre of Zayn’s Beats earphones is incidental. He’s going to go for the love heart on the other one to complete the picture when Zayn asks, ‘so how are we distracting him til then, Lou?’ and it reminds him he has other problems. No rest for the perfectly innocent, then. 

‘Porn?’

There’s a huff of quiet laughter as Louis flops down on the nearest chair, Zayn hooking his legs over the arm of his to kick Louis’s feet in a rhythm that would be soothing if it weren’t a bit annoying. Still, he kicks back rather than moving. 

‘Are you-’

‘On it,’ Louis says without looking up, opening the email from their awesome assistant team with all the local amenities in it, scrolling to the section marked ‘inadvisable and potentially dangerous activities under the supervision of trained professionals’. ‘Don’t suppose you -’

‘No bloody way. You two can keep your filthy, sweaty pursuits to yourself.’

The thing is, much as it pains Louis to admit this, Liam had the right of it: they _have_ been together too long. So much so that they can look at the shape of a crowded itinerary and see which one of them is going to run themselves ragged first. 

In this case, it’s absolutely Liam. There’s an intimidating blank space until 4pm, and he can rarely stay in bed beyond 9am in a city that isn’t London, so by four, he’ll have worked himself up into a right tizzy being just so _excited_ about the show. Then, partly because he’ll have drank all the tea - _sugar_ \- the hotel can give him, and he’ll be coming down from the show without the aid of a singular, calming beer, and he won’t sleep til 4am. 

Long story short: twitter will get a rambling, hilarious, adorable twitcam with Liam, they’ll get the closest thing to the rarest of specimens, Hungover Liam, the next morning, and he’ll be bloody miserable by the end of a day of interviews and appearances, because there’s no blank spaces on the morrrow. It means he’ll be _sad_ looking, and falling asleep on people who don’t think they can bear waking him up for the next round of the dog show. 

Bugger, basically. 

Zayn is easy on a schedule like that: headphones, a book and a balcony for a smoke. Remind him to eat. The more time to sleep, the better, is Zayn’s motto. Niall’s all right if the hotel doesn’t suck, or the room isn’t too small to pace around in, or there’s a guitar to mess about with, or decent films with blood and guts. Louis makes a mental note to pack a few in case. Harry’s another worry, usually. He’s better than he was at the ripe old age of sixteen, but if anyone’s going to get surprise stage nerves by hanging around doing fuck all most of the day, it’s Harry. 

Once or twice, Louis has congratulated himself on solving this conundrum in one, and remaining at the hotel with his own actual hangover in peace, by throwing Harry in Liam’s direction. And if the hotel room is too small, Niall gets shoved their way too. They’d spent the day feeding already fat ducks in a park, charming dogs walked by strangers, dancing with busking musicians or something equally disgusting, and talking for six hours about the big, idealistic things Harry loves talking about. Today Harry’s got some hair product endorsement ad/photoshoot, so he’ll be surrounded by people telling him he’s gorgeous until the early dinner before the show, and should be fine, if he remembers to eat any of it. 

Which is how Louis ends up agreeing with Zayn that he really should go to show Harry and Niall his new headphones (ha!) before Harry leaves for the shoot, and dragging a sleepy Liam off to the nearest indoor climbing centre with the promise of proper breakfast on the way. Climbing the walls: Louis can’t resist the obvious jokes and he doesn’t even feel bad about it. 

-

Liam wakes up somewhere between the breakfast bar where he nearly got his hands on tea and a banana before Louis threw his gym bag at him (‘No, quick! Now! No time to explain!’) and the plate of breakfast crepes put in front of him at the cafe. 

‘Eat up, we’re going to climb this!’ 

Louis’s phone is about a millimetre from his eyes. He takes in some sort of refurbished church with a really high climbing wall before it disappears again and leaves bright white dots in the middle of his view.

He points a fork at Louis. ‘You’re just doing this so Zayn can’t get you for putting heart stickers on those Beats he got sent. He’ll just wait til you come back down, you know. He’s scary patient like that.’

‘And Harry stickers,’ Louis adds, because he’s particular like that, and then slurps orange juice. The nearby waiter is unimpressed. Liam is always sort of intimidated by how unimpressed the French waiters can look in the places they end up, especially when they brush off any attempts to speak French to them. Louis usually continues on regardless and they soften very slightly when they realise his accent is dodgy but his comprehension could be a lot worse. 

They’re not climbing partners because antics like that lead to recruiting more security staff, and they like Paul really, and pictures of them dangling off ropes are, as politely as Simon put it, an easy way to jack up their personal injury insurance premiums. They pay for ‘lessons’ to keep two of the centre’s guys with them while they climb for two hours, because securing them to the climbing wall isn’t actually part of security’s job, ironically enough.

Liam doesn’t mind, though, because it does mean they get to clamber up the paths marked out with bright hand- and foot-holds at the same time rather than one spotting for the other.

‘Did you see he said the Miles Morales run was cool? I still want to see it.’

‘Can’t be worse than the third one.’

‘We don’t talk about that. It didn’t happen, Payner.’

They’re talking about Spider-man. It feels a bit like talking about the weather while you’re standing outside in it, talking about Spider-man on a climbing wall. Liam wonders if he should be trying to be more interesting, but Louis dragged him out and gave him less cups of tea (with less sugar) than usual, so Louis can deal with it. 

Louis is using the yellow and green path for people with less leg length than the one Liam is on but he’s even with him on the wall because he’s faster. (Liam noticed Louis didn’t say ‘shorter’ out loud in English or French when he was asking about the paths, and did not grin, but it was hard.) 

It isn’t often they’ll do something like this and make it a real competition, which confused Liam at first, because the first time, when he told Louis he was going to go surfing with him in Australia, he’d nearly regretted it, because he thought Louis might make _everything_ a competition. 

Thing is, though, it’s different when it’s the two of them doing sporty stuff: like they’re a team against the climbing wall, London traffic or the tide itself. It’s similar but not quite like how they are when in the studio and know that the lads are looking to them to get them through a hard week. The five minutes before they jump out of a plane or off a bridge are the only times Liam would say with absolute, complete confidence that Louis would never prank him. Tease him, yes, pinch, maybe, but probably while he ran his eyes over Liam’s harness one more time or rubbed his helmet ‘for luck’.

Louis pats one of Liam’s next holds on his way past and grins down at him. It’s a bit of a funny angle but even like this Louis looks calmer than he has in days and the climbing seems like a really good idea all of a sudden. There’s something about the start of a tour that makes Louis crazier than normal, in everyone’s faces and pushing further and further. He swings between that and silently married to his Blackberry in a way that makes the lads make filthy jokes about what else his hand could be up to all the time. 

It’s like - Liam feels ridiculous thinking it - but it’s like he’s gone far enough to the edge by agreeing to go in the first place to earn his place there, so Louis looks at him like, ‘we’re really doing this, right? Right?’ and Liam doesn’t really know how to say no to that. 

They get to the top - or as far as they’re going today - and wave for the cameras. Taking pictures on their phones for them to tweet later is an accepted part of their security detail, at least. 

Louis uses the hand he was waving with to gently hit Liam’s chest on the way back to his own hand-hold. ‘You hanging in there?’ 

If it’s a joke, it’s clear from his face that it’s not on Liam, just a joke made as easy as breathing because it’s there to make, so he nods and holds his hand out for a fist bump. ‘This is really cool. Properly good idea, Lou.’ Louis’s mouth quirks as he covers the fist with his hand, not even pretending to bump it, and then he turns and abruptly tugs the cable in the signal for ‘abseiling down.’ 

Liam follows him down. Louis lands first, waits, and hip checks him as he braces him on the last step with a muttered, ‘Relax - got you.’ 

-

They change and head to a burger bar put into the ground floor of a hotel to appease tourists and take a booth at the back. It’s an easy lunch, burgers and chips and texting the lads, talking around tour stuff rather than about it. Liam slides down his side of the booth and props his feet up in the vacant space at Louis’s right, nearest the wall, and expects him to do the same. He doesn’t though; he turns to the side a bit and pulls Liam’s feet onto his lap. Liam says ‘Oi,’ and throws a chip at him, but he doesn’t have any actual urge to stop Louis, who’s got a hand curled around the top of his foot, above the lip of his Converse. 

Louis checks his phone with his free hand. ‘I’ve got a text from Zayn that’s nearly all words we can’t say on telly.’ 

Liam leans his head back on the back of the booth and feels his short hair brush the leather. He’s still getting used to that. He shuts his eyes and feels warm, full of food and rather content, in the dim light of the only burger bar in the nicest part of the city. Liam snorts. ‘You know Harry’s probably still laughing. Hope they don’t want any serious shots or pouts at this thing he’s doing.’ He yawns and covers it instantly, freezing in place.

Louis barks out a laugh that’s mostly surprised, but there’s something genuinely triumphant in there, too. 

Liam knows that’s not what you’re supposed to do when you’re out with someone, that it’s rude to yawn in someone’s face in a restaurant, but if he never yawned in front of the lads, he’d be an actual robot or off his face on pills, so he’s not sure why this time is any different. ‘Sorry, Tommo,’ he says, maybe trying to be dignified, considering there’s no need to use the name of the only other person in the booth with him. 

Louis smirks and checks his phone. ‘It’s only twelve-thirty, you know. Plenty of time for a nap.’ He rubs a circle on Liam’s foot and waggles his eyebrows. 

The mocking is gentler than normal, but Liam feels himself flush to the hairline. ‘Leave off - I’m going for a piss.’ 

Louis’s laugh follows him to the bathroom. Liam leaves his phone on the table, curses his carelessness but doesn’t go back: Louis is there, after all. 

It’s not til he’s got reason to be looking down at his shoes that he notices they look like they’ve been gift-wrapped in Louis Tomlinson photoshopped stickers. He bites the inside of his cheek. 

-

Louis isn’t done, though. Liam finds that out later, after they’ve gone on stage, done their thing, and the crowd have faded back out of the doors and left behind a field of discarded drinks cups, the glare of the main lights and them guzzling water backstage. He realises the back of his phone is covered in leopard print adhesive fuzzy stuff. It’s not entirely to prove a point that he balances his phone on Harry’s overly-warm shoulder in the car - Harry murmurs incoherent thanks at the cool touch - and falls asleep with the fuzzy side against his cheek and the smell of whatever hair mousse Harry’s advertising in his nostrils. 

At the hotel he rummages through his luggage. He’s still not sure what instinct had him shoving the sticker packet into one of the inside pockets when packing but he’s glad he listened to it. 

Aside from the stickers of the band there’s a page full My Little Ponies and smiling suns. Ah, perfect.

-

Even the lads best able to amuse themselves during the day and go out to work every night get unbalanced by the lopsided days eventually. So maybe the stickers thing goes on a bit longer than they thought it would. In their defence, they’re doing that thing where they’re channelling Dame Maggie in Downton and asking _what_ is _a weekend._ It’s a fair warning sign when Louis asks Niall what day it is and he shrugs, takes another slice of toast and says, ‘Dunno. Ends in ‘y’, probably?’ Louis grins, slaps the back of his head, and slouches off to his room to get dressed, and Liam clinks his cup against Niall’s at the breakfast bar. 

It winds them tighter around each other, winds them up for interviews more, possibly because they’re all on regular caffeine stops; Red Bull should really endorse them at this point. They find their way back to London after the whirlwind of the Euro press junket and mini-tour to do the final batch of press. 

At least, Liam thinks, they got an early night and sleep before the day that ends on the last interview. They go straight to the TV studio from the airport, and it’s dark already. Zayn, especially, has been missing his one true love, sorry, _Perrie._

It’s a making of the album thing, so they manage to stay on point with minimum herding: they all actually care a lot about the music, though Liam knows people think otherwise, and they poured sweat and blood into the record. And even on the days they’re really sick of arguing for every off beat drum fill and harmony line, they know one of the others will pick up the defence. He’s never been more grateful not to be a solo artist. He can’t imagine trying to do what they all do alone or not sharing out Dealing With Management, though Louis still takes the brunt of it in a way that suggests he’s trying to _make up_ for something. The thought is surprisingly painful. Sometimes he wonders if the other lads notice too, they must he’s sure, because they’re always there too when Louis acts he doesn’t care that he’s got less verse and they all offer up some of their own.

Of course, the seriousness only lasts for so long. People might not recognise them if they’re serious for too long. People like themselves. 

Harry is telling a long, rambling story and nodding endearingly, while Niall and Zayn have an eyebrow war behind each of his shoulders. Liam catches Louis’s eyes, and oh, that’s trouble. He knows that’s trouble. Liam feels his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

‘Oh, what’s this?’ 

There’s something about them that makes interviewers and normally cold press people treat them like their teenaged son’s hungry mates piling into their kitchen after a day in the park. They ribbed Niall for about a million years after one of the Daybreak presenters fixed the tag he’d left sticking out of one of his layers live on air. That’s not even mentioning the time Zayn didn’t have enough shoes (because Louis pushed them all into a fountain and Zayn only had one pair with him besides his stage wear, locked in the bus, helpfully), so Ellen had to catch him and take the price stickers off the bottom of his new pair. 

_Stickers._

Liam feels every bit of his neck click, he sits up so straight. 

There’s a beat of silence and then they all fall apart. Thank god they’re not _live._ They can edit the laughter down to a sensible portion of the interview. They probably won’t. 

The interviewer, a petite brunette with wide waves and brown eyes, has a sticker with Louis’s face on it on the tip of her finger and an eyebrow raised. ‘Think you dropped something, darling.’

Liam accepts the sticker with a grin and feels someone cuff his neck. ‘Don’t suppose this is a recent addition to my outfit?’ 

Harry might actually be crying. Niall is propping up Zayn. Louis shrugs and grins. ‘Mystery of the universe, mate.’ Then he bursts out laughing and nudges Harry off the couch entirely, who is gasping something that sounds suspiciously like _I’ve fallen and I can’t get up._

The cameras are still rolling, so it feels weird that Liam is standing up and turning with his arms out like it’s an airport security check, and weirder yet that this odd little private joke is being explained enthusiastically by the others to an interviewer. They poke him and count the stickers on his outfit but - _bastards_ \- don’t remove a single one. 

Well, Zayn steals one to wear in solidarity, because he’s great. The others are rubbish though. Which is why he’s grinning and telling Louis to tell the interviewer about Niall’s food containers. 

‘I see how it is, you two, with your sticking together,’ Louis says, pointing at Liam and Zayn, who’s wearing a miniature of Louis on the tip of his nose. There’s a beat before the joke registers and Harry starts giggling again, reaching up for Niall and dragging him down with him instead. ‘We labelled them all. All the food containers and packed lunches in the hotel fridge. With Niall’s face.’

Niall buries his head in his hands, pulling his knees up to sit against the back of the sofa and kicks Louis, who does not respond. 

‘You even put it on stuff I would _never_ eat, it was horrible,’ Niall says, grinning. 

‘Yeah but you’d eat those if there was nothing left, right, Nialler?’ Liam leans forward, palm flat on Niall’s shoulder. Niall nods, suspicious, and Louis tackles Liam. 

‘Exactly, see? Liam gets it,’ Louis raises a single eyebrow to the camera and nods persuasively. ‘We were _saving those_ for when he finished the rest.’

‘I have one question, though,’ the interviewer says, and they blink, because Liam thinks they might have forgotten there was someone they were supposed to be talking _to_ for a minute. It wouldn’t be the first time. ‘Why are all of the ones on you of Louis’s face?’

There’s another silence, even from Harry and Niall rolling around on the floor. Harry tilts his head and offers up a crooked elbow. Liam and Louis haul him up to the couch between them, Zayn moving back to the back of the couch and putting both hands on Liam’s shoulders. The silence balances right on the very edge of awkward and Liam feels heat rush to his palms as he realises he’s _waiting for Louis to jump in and answer,_ because he doesn’t know, and he hates _not knowing._

Liam and Harry share a look, one that’s real under the smiles that are suddenly forced and fixed like the wind changed on them. Liam feels more like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, but that’s not entirely helpful. 

God bless Niall. He launches himself from the right armrest like a pouncing Disney animal and knocks Harry into Louis, legs sprawling over Liam and head hitting Zayn’s knee with an ‘oof.’ They laugh again, Niall sitting up to wrap his legs around Liam like he would if it were giving him a backie, except for how they’re sitting down so it’s more like getting tangled in a blonde, giggling octopus. 

Harry grins that grin that usually works and wraps his arms around Liam and Louis, managing to take in Zayn’s hands and Niall’s arms incidentally - they forget he’s so lanky sometimes, Liam thinks - and tilts his head. ‘Because we love Liam and he’s ours, _obviously.’_

This wakes up Louis, who’s been pushed around in a mockery of his usual antics since the interviewer asked. He rubs a fist, mostly knuckles, along Liam’s head (‘for luck,’ Liam thinks, and shivers), then turns his squared shoulders back into the camera, talking a mile a minute like they’re on the first day of the tour. 

‘We used all of Niall’s on the food containers, gave Harry’s away to hairdressers for when they get asked to cut people’s hair like his, and Zayn’s on his books. Besides,’ Louis grins and nods to Liam, but it’s not _right_ and it’s close, half-hidden behind Harry’s shoulder, ‘we wanted to make sure Liam likes his new tattoo.’ There’s a thumb sweeping his cheekbone, and Liam blushes, knowing it’s left behind a sticker. 

The grin has too much teeth to it, but they move on to the time Louis put stickers on the spines of all of Zayn’s books. How it turned out to be useful when he forgot a bunch because he can’t pack to save his life and has never tried to learn, because the hotel staff found them and sent them on. 

-

Zayn takes possession of Liam’s right arm and side as they leave the station, Liam shrugging an arm around him and knocking their heads together. Louis frowns at that but feels a tug of his own.

‘Come on, love, cases are already in this one.’ Harry pulls him in the direction of the other car, the one where Paul is taking the front seat and they’re being driven to their places. 

Paul gives Louis a look as he pulls himself into the black car by the handle (and really, between the junket and being driven about, it’ll be a wonder if he gets around to getting a new car before Christmas).

Louis wonders if he’s got something on his face, because usually Paul would be looking back to talk about what’s on tomorrow, and usually, Louis would be listening. 

Paul doesn’t lean back. Harry leaves the middle between them empty and the car quiet. 

‘Wallet?’ Harry has his hand out, palm up and flat. He’s got a shockingly grown up look on his face that’s making Louis want to pinch his cheeks because when did that happen. 

‘Not a cab, Hazza, and we both know if we needed one of those you’d be more hammered than me,’ Louis replies, fishing out his wallet anyway. 

The oddest thing - the best thing, the first thing - Louis had ever loved about the stage was leaving everything behind. Like space, or at least its weightlessness. Harry or Zayn probably have some big words about the stage _as a space_ and all that - he’s heard them talk about it a bit when he’s been dozing in and out and they’ve been talking (literally) over his head. 

What it means to Louis is handing over everything from his keys, his wallet, his passport, the crumpled receipts in his back pockets and his phone, zipping them up in a bag they give to someone Simon swears they can trust, and getting everything he’s ever wanted in the shape of a microphone in return. Zayn’s tattoo makes quite a lot of sense when you think about it. Harry had understood that as an instinct, and they’d become friends, partly because Harry had desperately wanted to be able to leave everything behind to go on stage, but hadn’t known how, and Louis was too good at it. 

Harry sighs and holds up a piece of glossy paper. In the dark light of the insulated car slipping its way into Londontown, flashes from outside not getting very far in past the glass, and both reluctant to turn on the overhead lights, Louis can still tell it’s a strip of stickers, half-used. ‘You going to try to tell me you’re enough up your own arse to carry pictures of yourself in your wallet or what?’ 

Louis flushes and shifts uncomfortably in the seat. ‘You saying I’m not worth it?’

‘Lou-’

‘Leave it, yeah?’ 

It sounds not-joking enough that the conversation at the front stutters, but Louis bumps the side of his hand against Harry’s in the middle of the car where no one’s sitting, and he’s looking at Harry when he says it. _We’ll talk, yeah?_

Whatever Harry sees, he makes a snap decision. ‘Just mine, Paul, thanks,’ Harry leans forward, and when he sits back his knees are angled to let his ankles bump Louis’s. ‘I saw plenty in your wallet. Pick something I don’t completely hate, probably couldn’t make at home and phone it, will you?’ 

-

Louis isn’t sure why Harry’s caving on the take out argument before they’ve even had it, because he never used to when they actually lived together. Louis remembers the way Niall had threaded his way through the car park on the edges of the security perimeter like he was absorbing all the empty space he could and the way Zayn had grabbed Liam like a mast on a ship in high seas. Then Harry had grabbed his arm pulling them into their own comfortable if strange little orbit.

Maybe there’s no big, horrible conversation waiting to happen. 

Maybe Harry is just, like the rest of them, bloody worn out. 

That and his kitchen is probably absolutely spotless, with not a touch of dust, because the building would have sent somebody round to take care of that earlier in the week. Louis bites the inside of his cheek when he thinks that. The only time he’s ever seen Harry Styles order take out in his own house is when he’s too tired to clean up after using every pot in the kitchen. 

The food - proper curry, rice and chips, classic, not more pizza please - gets there while Louis is dumping his cases, one in Harry’s hall cupboard and one in the spare room. The cupboard in there has bits and pieces they’ve all left there, but he’s probably just going to nick something of Harry’s to wear in the morning anyway and roll the sleeves up. 

He has a funny feeling in his stomach when they flick away from a music channel that has Liam’s face singing to camera and it’s probably not the curry. 

Louis figures they’re a more feelings-friendly band than most groups of lads. They sit around a table to talk about nothing but _feelings_ , cry over ice-cream, then call it ‘song-writing’ and get paid for it, after all. Still. 

Harry rolls his eyes when Louis deliberately pulls out a sticker, holds it up like a demonstration tool and puts Harry’s face on his shoulder. ‘This is where you nap, remember?’ 

Harry gives him a look that’s more fond than tired of him, which is good, because Louis doesn’t think very many others on the planet could do that just now, after being away in Europe with him for weeks on end. 

It’s sharper, too, than he’s used to from Harry, who used to look at him like he was great, really great, but an utterly unknown quantity, but in, like, an amazing way. Louis isn’t sure he’s entirely happy to have lost his mystique with Harry, but if it means Harry will curl up on him and let him pretend it’s mostly for Harry’s benefit, he can work with that. 

The thing is that what he has with Harry feels like a lucky chord he hit in his first guitar lesson and it sounded proper and _right._ Even though he knows so many others now, it still feels a bit like a home, like a warm, relaxed position on the strings. 

Getting to know Liam had been - still is - a bit like trying to figure out how the Egyptians built the pyramids, and trying to recreate it inside the timeframe of an episode of Time Team. Especially when Louis realised he never _had_ a chance of fooling Liam with the same routine he danced for everyone else, not even for a minute, because Liam had tried that himself and found it somehow dishonest. Lately, though, there’s been something in the place of that full on, sometimes disgruntled attention Liam gave him. 

Because Liam puts little Liam stickers all over his keychain, his glasses case, his spoon in Liam’s kitchen drawer. It makes Liam something tangible, constant and real, rather than a bundle of characteristics that don’t quite match up with an occasional cheeky grin promising there’s more, if you can find it. And Louis really, really does want to find it, which is why, when the interviewer turned on Liam, asking _why Louis?_ he’d frozen up entirely thinking, _because, mine - ours,_ followed shortly by, _wait, what?_

It would have been easier if Liam had gotten sick of it: sick of Louis having a keycard to his hotel room, sick of his grinning mug on his mirrors, his gold stars on his phone screen where the contact ID comes up, museum gift shop packs from dinosaur exhibitions and suits of armour on show on his travel bag. But Liam _never did_ , and if there’s one thing Louis is good at, it’s wanting to see how far he can _push._ But then they’d already started putting T-Rex stickers inside Harry’s ridiculous empty bird cage tattoo, plotting and texting pictures from stationery shops. 

It had started to feel like he was encroaching into all the corners of Liam’s life to see how far he could get before Liam balked, and Liam _never did,_ and every time he found a sticker mirroring one he put in Liam’s room, Louis had gotten a little braver, until he was brushing his hand along Liam’s forearm and leaving a sticker under his watch before he could close the strap. 

Louis groans and slides down the couch, clutching Harry’s ridiculous tshirt. ‘Going to stretch that and my clothes aren’t acceptable collateral damage in whatever fight you’re having with yourself and/or Liam.’

Harry tightens his arms around him anyway. 

‘This is ridiculous,’ Louis says flatly against Harry’s chest. 

‘No, mate, it’s really not,’ Harry replies, warm hand making circles on his back and toeing off both their shoes. He nearly puts his ankle in a tub of sauce for his trouble. There’s a rough burr to his voice that makes Louis think he’s lucky Harry’s not actually laughing at him, but the thing about Harry is that he’s probably more sympathetic to Louis’s plight than most, because he wanders through most days willing to fall in love with a quickness that worries the rest of them. When he thinks about it like that, Louis thinks: of course Harry noticed. 

‘If you want ridiculous, think about how you’ve been bringing Liam toys like a cat bringing in dead mice. Or a dog who’s put a hole in your Converse but gives them back to you anyway, and you still think they’re the cutest bloody thing in the world. Which doesn’t even begin to cover the marking your territory business-’

‘So not _that_ much second-hand embarrassment in the bus, then,’ Louis deadpans and Harry huffs a laugh while he pushes a hand through Louis’s hair. 

‘For someone who likes big gestures, you managed to miss a subtle hint that would have made ACME’s anvil department proud, Lou. Like, actual cartoon violence.’ Harry does a one-handed mime of an anvil dropping. 

Louis grins up at him at the reference, thinking of all those funny, desaturated mornings when they’d flown in to see the dawn from the wrong side, or they’d gotten up before it and watched cartoons while they waited on the cars. 

Then it hits. Or rather, his ears start to ring, remembering the crunch and crash of the crane-load falling on his Porsche. Anvils.

Well, _shit._

He falls over on Harry’s sofa, on the verge of punching cushions just to get some of what’s expanding in his chest _out_ , while Harry mutters horribly sincere and earnest things about it looking less apocalyptic in the morning, after some sleep, and how this is actually a _good thing_. For _everyone_. That is clearly easy for him to say. He’s not the one who has to - well, do something about it. That’s what happens next, right? 

While he’s on the subject, Harry has deep analytical things to say like, ‘You flirt _weird_ when you mean it. How does this even work for you?’ 

He’s a horrible friend, really, so Louis falls asleep on him with a smile on his face. 

Like a lot of other things, it makes sense at the time. 

-

Liam can’t help eyeing where Harry and Louis have gone off, in a different car, probably to one of theirs. Sometimes Liam wonders why they ever stopped living together, considering how much time they spent at the other’s house, but it’s a feeling without much bite, only the old faded edge of how well Harry and Louis got on and so easily since the beginning. He doesn’t have much ground to stand on, anyway, seeing as how he, Niall and Zayn are heading to Zayn’s flat where Zayn asked Mike to drop them off. Perrie’s out of town, he remembers, which means that Zayn must be feeling a bit lonely without her around if he’s directing them towards his place with no ifs, ands, or buts about it. 

Liam doesn’t really mind. His insides feel twisted and tight and only get tighter when he thinks of Louis, the interview and that odd silence that felt like it meant _something_ , except he’s not sure what. He hates when he’s not sure of something. 

It took him months and a few pokes from Zayn to learn that when he’s feeling like this it’s just best to talk to one of the lads. They all have a way about them. They’ve always been able to poke through his defensive layers - even when he hadn’t wanted them to - when he’s feeling down on himself and pull him out with jokes, teasing, cuddles, and while nobody would believe it, they’re the best listeners when they want to be. Lately it’s been Louis he’s gone to, but the idea of asking him what had happened in the interview just knots up his insides further. 

Zayn nudges him, resting his chin in his shoulder and meets Liam’s eyes. ‘Hey, we’ll be there soon, okay?’ _We’ll talk_.

Liam nods, resting his temple against Zayn’s forehead, never more grateful for Zayn’s ability to be scarily in tune with Liam’s mood. ‘You got food?’

Zayn scoffs in mock offense but pokes Niall. ‘Babe, take out?’

‘Brilliant, I’ve been craving fried rice all day!’ He’s already pulling out his phone - Niall has all the best takeaway places programmed into his phone, to no one’s surprise - and turning to Liam, ‘You’ll be wanting those greasy noodles, and those fried shrimp, right?’

And Liam suddenly understands that Zayn isn’t the only one attuned to his moods, because Niall is ordering a comfort dish of his. Liam can’t help the fondness that overcomes him and runs his hand over Niall’s hair, messing up the perfectly spiked fringe their stylist had arranged. 

‘Thanks, Nialler.’

-

Because Niall is an expert in all things involving food they’re barely at Zayn’s for five minutes before the food gets there and they arrange themselves around Zayn’s coffee table. Niall grabs one of Perrie’s fashion mags and starts flipping through it as he and Zayn arrange the dishes in the middle of the table. Food, like clothes, is generally communal with them. 

Once the set up is done they eat in a sort of half-silence. Most of it coming from Liam, while Niall and Zayn talk about the new films they want to see or cover songs they’d like to do - Liam chimes in here for a beat, ‘write me up a list,’ to which they beam. As much as Liam hates being rude, with his thoughts wrapping and turning circular in his head, just the sounds of Niall and Zayn around him, waiting for him, are a comfort. 

They’ve always (all of them, really) been rather good about not pushing Liam too fast, just sort of standing with their hands held out, wiggling their fingers, waiting for him to grab hold. Louis is really the only one who will stomp his feet and reach out to tug him gently forward, but never faster than Liam is comfortable with.

‘So there was a mo-- thing, moment in the interview, right? I’m not being crazy or over-thinking it, am I?’

It speaks to how closely they were paying attention to him that Zayn and Niall stop their conversation mid-sentence; how much they were waiting for him to say something, _anything_ and how they don’t laugh at him when Liam would not blame them at all. 

‘Liam, love, I’m not avoiding answering your question, promise, but first, this one for you: what is it with the stickers?’ Zayn licks his lips, slowly, and reaches for a cigarette. Liam warns him about smoking indoors, but it’s Zayn’s flat and if he wants to smoke inside Liam can’t very well fault him. Niall pushes the food away from Zayn and closer to Niall. 

Liam’s lips twitch. 

Zayn’s question though. The stickers. They were a joke, right? He thinks of the Buzz doll with Liam’s face stuck on it, his phone with the fuzzy stickers, and his shoes, but also: the dinosaur sticker that’s stuck on his bathroom mirror at home, and how Louis’s wallet is filled - all the stickers over the protective covering of the plastic photo holders, of course - and his glasses case has a pair of winking eyes and how it makes Liam smile when he finds Louis’s ridiculous face plastered on the back of his watch (how did he even manage that one?) or how Louis laughed when he found all their faces incorrectly stuck over the glass in one of the framed pictures he has in his flat. 

He thinks about today and how until the interviewer asked he hadn’t even considered anything odd about Louis’s face stuck all over his jacket. 

Over the last few weeks Louis’s face has been cheekily stuck on almost every corner of Liam’s life. He’s woken up in Italy with Louis’s face on his forehead, then pressed on the back of his tie for an event. 

And Liam has done the same. 

Louis has had Liam’s face sticking to the inside sole of his Vans and the handle of his luggage; over the face of the bird on his arm, on his beanies, all over his face when he overslept in Denmark and Liam had covered it, then tweeted about the oversleeping, but not the stickers.

He’s liked it, too. He liked having this weird connection with Louis. They played with the others - they can never not; sticking their faces on themselves and each other - but it had always been Liam and Louis doing the sticking. It was their thing. And it had all been for laughs, except it hadn’t always been funny how it felt when he would find a new sticker. A small symbol of Louis reminding Liam he had been thinking of him - of this thing they were doing, like the time he found the bright dots on his wall like interlocking climbing paths - when he pressed a sticker on surface for Liam to find. And despite the ridiculous places he would find the stickers, when he laughed, what he mostly felt was... 

He blinks, eyes focusing back on Zayn who’s looking at him with that soft little smile that tells Liam that Zayn is an utter bastard who fucking knew. He snaps his head towards Niall, who just grins, mouth full and shrugs, and suddenly Niall jumping on them during the interview after that _moment_ makes so much more sense. 

‘Well, shit.’ Liam mumbles, looking down at his hands. He’s got his watch on. The watch with Louis’s face stuck under it. He wears it all the time, not that he’s thought about it like that before, Louis’s face pressing against his skin. Zayn and Niall are such utter bastards for laughing because this isn’t funny. (To be fair, which he _absolutely_ doesn’t want to be at all in this moment, they’re probably only laughing because he cursed.)

‘This isn’t funny!’ Liam groans, falling backwards to the floor and drops his hand over his face. 

He can hear them shuffling around him and someone’s hands pulling his away. Liam glares - unsuccessfully from the looks of it - at them. Niall is full on grinning, the Irish sod, but Zayn’s got this soft look in his eyes; one Liam remembers when Zayn first told him about Perrie. 

‘Mate, it’s okay,’ he practically whispers, ‘you know we love you, right? And we love him too, and the loo is right there if you need to throw up.’

Niall leans down to smack a kiss on Liam’s forehead. ‘You’d be really cute together. You already kind of are.’

Liam groans again, closing his eyes, and throwing up doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. But something else, something more important occurs to him. 

‘How the hell am I going to tell him?’ Because as absolutely uncalled for, and probably career-damaging, as this realisation is the idea of not telling Louis is unthinkable. He tells Louis everything. However, he can’t deny, there’s a fear about how Louis will react. Louis is just so _Louis,_ sharp, and loving, and thirty feelings at once. Liam isn’t sure which will emerge if he ever gathers up the courage to tell him that Liam’s gone and fallen for him. He groans again. He needs a proper think.

It says something about Niall’s entire world view that he only slaps Liam’s cheek and tells him ‘you’ll figure it out.’ Zayn, bless him, just pulls Liam back up, slides his fingers through Liam’s hair and reaches for some dumplings, popping one in his mouth and feeding the other to Liam. 

‘It’ll be fine, Li. It’s Louis. He loves you, too.’

Liam makes a choice for self-preservation and can only believe in Zayn. He’s generally right about things like this. 

(That last bit, however, might be some wishful thinking on Liam’s part.)

 

-

Something is supposed to change now, isn’t it? 

There’s supposed to be a big change in how they act towards each other, isn’t there?

He expects it, the change, the shift from comfortable to awkward. From touching casually to not touching at all. 

But then there’s a sticker on his teacup and the feeling that blooms in his chest, warm and suddenly so huge, feels reflected on his face. Curling his fingers around the warm cup, he wonders where his own sticker will go next.

-

They’ve had a good two weeks. Tiring, but good. The interviews have been blissfully short most of the time, or when they’re longer they’ve been easy and fun - one particular moment aside but he doesn’t regret it all - and the few performances they have gone really well. Brilliant, really. He hadn’t exactly meant for Liam to be caught with the stickers, except that maybe he had, just a little bit. He can admit as much now. Louis does nothing so well as pushing his luck. 

It’s odd now, thinking about what if Liam hadn’t been caught and none of what come from had happened. Especially since he likes what’s come from it. Like knowing what that extra little flutter is when Liam’s eyes crinkle when he laughs. 

Not that he’s spoken to Liam about it, but whatever shift happened during that interview, it hasn’t changed them and Louis is _so_ bloody grateful for that. He doesn’t want to lose this closeness he’s gained with Liam. He wants to strengthen it, solidify it, except he’s not sure how to go about that.

Yet. 

He’s figuring it out, which is the same thing he told Harry when Harry last asked. That, of course, had been three hours ago.

He thought he would be more awkward with Liam now, that for some reason Liam would be more awkward with him, but it’s same, mostly. There’s a careful line that Louis feels so much more aware of toeing. It’s just like when he and Liam went bungee jumping and they were standing on that edge, waiting to jump, and he doesn’t want to go without taking hold of Liam’s hand so they could jump together. 

And with all that creeping in and filling him, Louis can’t help think:

It’s been a bloody good two weeks.

This, of course, calls for a celebration after the last interview of the week. They have the next couple of days off - which means they don’t have to go to the studio or see each other every day, except while they can manage the first the second is closer to impossible. It’s not quite the weekend yet (Thursday, which also ends in ‘y’) but that only means that the pubs will be slightly emptier tonight, which right now feels rather ideal.

As fun as fame is sometimes, and it is fun, Louis likes it best when it’s the five of them in a nondescript pub or club hanging together. 

He first mentions his idea of a mini-celebration to Niall who grins and rattles off places they should have dinner as well and then says he’ll ring Zayn and Liam and meet Louis and Harry at the restaurant. ‘I’ll text you the address, mate!’

Dinner hadn’t exactly been in Louis’s plan but you just don’t get between Niall and food. Plus, he realises they’ve probably not eaten much all day, so it’s not a bad idea. The restaurant Niall chooses is nice but not fancy which Louis is grateful for: everyone around them mostly pretends that they don’t recognise them. It’s that kind of crowd.

There is one family with a young girl who quite hasn’t mastered the art of spying and the fifth time Louis catches her looking with wide eyes he nudges Harry and they wave. The others notice, of course, and they turn and wave too. The girl turns red and ducks her head, but Louis is pretty sure they’ve made her night. 

His pasta is good, so is his pint, and halfway through they all pass around bites to share, almost a habit by now. It’s a bit of a battle when the bill comes because obviously they can all pay for themselves, but while Niall might have picked the place, it was Louis’s idea to have a Lads’ Night Out and he bares his teeth when they all reach for the leather bill holder. Liam fights with him for two seconds longer than the others because of course he does, so Louis pinches his wrist. Liam’s nose crinkles and Louis grins wide, clear winner. 

After, making sure to send a placemat with all their signatures to the girl at the table, Louis poses the question of club or pub and Harry goes on about this place Sheeran told him about that’s chilled and plays good music so you know they go there. 

Good enough for Ed and all that. 

-

@Louis_Tomlinson: LADS NIGHT OUT!!!! #bestever

-

 _Chalk one up to Ed_ , Louis thinks as they settle around a table in the surprisingly kitschy decorated pub with purple walls in a slightly darkened corner because they would just rather not be noticed tonight. They’re noticed enough, to be honest, and one thing Louis will say about his motherland, the English just generally leave people be out a sense of, he’s not quite sure, extreme politeness? He’s never been, personally, always too loud and excitable, according to some, but he can appreciate it in his countrymen and women tonight. With the French it just comes off snotty half the time.

Of course, Niall and Harry barely stay seated long enough to drop their coats and head directly to the bar for drinks without even asking what they want. They really do know each other too well. Liam didn’t drink at dinner, only ordered a Coke, but he looks over to where Harry and Niall have bounced off to the bar, clearly aware they’re not going to be bringing back another Coke for him.

Louis nudges him with his foot, ‘Just one.’

Zayn looks up from where he’s texting someone, presumably Perrie. ‘Two.’ Which makes Louis blink because since when is _he_ the one encouraging Liam’s very responsible drinking habits to take a night off. 

But since he can’t really argue with Zayn’s logic, he nods quickly. ‘Seconded.’ 

Liam still isn’t used to drinking they way the rest of them are, so when they do drag him out he’s still usually the most sober one at the end of the night. Before Louis researched the kidney thing he’d felt properly guilty over the drinking thing. It hadn’t really been fair in his mind that Liam couldn't drink with the rest of them, then after a quick google search he had felt cold - which is an _exaggeration_ , except it wasn’t, but it had stung for a bit that entire (too long) minute.

Louis had thought that the reason Liam avoided going out with them was because he didn’t _like_ him-- _them_ ; something that made no sense. He could see how close Liam and Zayn were, how well he got on with Niall and even Harry, and Louis will deny certain self-conscious conversations with Harry about Liam’s refusal to go out with them until he had understood that Liam felt genuinely awkward when he went out; thinking he was too stiff, or the least fun, or something equally ridiculous. 

Louis is sure people would call that understanding a turning point in a relationship. 

He wouldn’t, exactly, because as much as he loves that Liam goes out with them more now it was never about if or how much Liam could drink, just... that Liam felt _comfortable_ with them. Louis had slowly learned to take the pinch of _hurt_ out of it, when asking Liam to join all their reindeer games, of what he would or wouldn’t do, and make it about what it had really been about in the first place: them wanting Liam around. Of course the fact he can get properly pissed with them now is a very fun bonus, not one Liam indulges much, but it’s nice to know it could happen. (And has. Louis has photographic and video proof. Liam is such a giggly drunk; adorable.)

Not tonight though, Louis thinks, watching Liam’s face.

‘Unless you don’t...’ Louis bites his lip, craning his head to look to see if Harry’s ordered already. Liam’s hand is on his wrist, thumb pressing down on the bone that juts out, stops him. 

‘Nah, it’s fine,’ he grins, eyes crinkling. Louis really adores that grin. ‘Two’s fine. Maybe even three.’ 

His eyes are soft and his hand is really warm on Louis’s skin, so warm that Louis thinks its heat is spreading to cover Louis’s hand like a balm. He has a small personal battle with himself as he both does and doesn’t want to push Liam’s hand away. In the end he doesn’t. 

But the moment - which he wasn’t even calling a Moment until just now - quickens and feels too thick even in the nicely air conditioned pub. He pushes out a grin, too easy, too bright, too telling, hoping the low lights hide the blush he’s sure he has. 

‘Three, you wild child, Liam Payne!’ His mouth feels very dry; he tickles Liam’s palm, just for the action. Something grounding, familiar. 

Liam laughs, as expected, even though that’s possibly the worst joke Louis has ever told, and it’s disgusting how giddy that makes Louis. Liam sits back. Louis can’t help notice his shoulders look so broad in that shirt, which is unfair really. Liam’s hand slips away from Louis’s wrist. Louis always moves his own back slowly. The table is too cool in contrast to the imprint of Liam’s fingers. It’s actually a bit embarrassing how much he wants to pull Liam’s hand back and thread their fingers together. With a swallow - and where the bloody hell are Harry and Niall, it’s only five bloody pints, he needs a drink - he drapes a leg over Liam’s closest one because, well, all right, _because_ he’s never needed a reason before, has he?

He also ignores Zayn’s snort, because Zayn can just stop, he knows nothing. Except Louis rather thinks he does. Zayn is annoying like that. 

Instead he chooses to focus on Liam, who pats Louis’s knee under the table and tickles it just a little, near the back where they all know he’s ticklish. Louis kicks him. Liam smiles and oh there’s Harry and Niall, thank god. 

Louis needs a drink right now before he does something incredibly ridiculous. 

-

Liam is surprised (but less than he used to be) that instead of getting mocked for his usual sobriety, they’re taking his relative moderation so well, especially Louis. Two drinks later and considering the third - he can feel the alcohol starting to loosen up his shoulders, his laugh - Louis looks at him and says, ‘Another?’ 

Liam nods, ‘Yeah, I think so.’ 

Louis gives him a look that says he’s not _asking_ , he’s just …. asking. It’s an articulate look: more articulate than Liam expects considering he’s the only one on the third pint, and if it were a race, the others would have lapped him long ago.

Liam smacks the side of his thigh and pushes him towards the bar. ‘Try less head next time.’

The look he gets back is positively scandalised and covered quickly with a falsely scandalised face. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ 

Then, he catches sight of Louis’s grin as he turns, and it’s _filthy,_ but he doesn’t catch enough of it: Liam wants to call for a replay, a different camera angle, to see whatever’s there in full sight. Or he just wants to put his mouth on Louis’s while he’s grinning like that, or drag him back to grin like that while he looks Liam in the face. Either way, he feels like he’s been on a run, like his skin is hot and stretched and sensitive. 

Maybe the pints were a bad idea.

Maybe the pints were a _great_ idea. 

What Liam really wants to know is why he’s only got devils on his shoulders tonight, or why he doesn’t mind their company. 

Zayn is giggling quietly into Niall’s shoulder - speaking of his devils - and he has this horrible feeling it’s because of him. Or them, even. Zayn tugs Niall up and turns him towards the direction of the pool table. ‘Do I have to give you two quid change or do you think you can handle it, Nialler?’

Niall stands up straight enough that for a minute, Liam is terrified he’s going to do something like salute, and they’ll accidentally offend a genuine soldier, and they’re going to kicked out on their arse when it’s all going so _well._ All Niall does, however, is wink and good, one crisis averted. 

As Niall bumbles his way to the pool table, Zayn puts a hand on Liam’s wrist and leans over the table. ‘You’re annoyingly good at it since you spent all that time in the tattoo place with Louis. So I don’t think so.’ Liam is left drying his palms on his jeans and opening and closing his mouth as Zayn says, ‘Oh and send Harry over when they get back from the bar. He’s the only person who can make Niall feel guilty about cheating.’ 

Zayn is a _bastard._

But then Harry and Louis are stumbling back to the table, giggling, and for a second Liam tells himself he will not send Harry away. He likes Harry, he _adores_ Harry, and sitting in the very warm pub next to Louis alone in a corner table where the lights are low and hardly anyone would notice if Liam leaned-

No. He is not sending Harry away. Harry is lovely. Harry is one of his best mates. He loves Harry. Having Harry around is good thing.

‘Hey, Haz, Zayn’s called for reinforcements against Niall at the pool table.’

Liam did _not_ authorise those words to come out of his mouth, and despite that, he sounds disturbingly sure of himself, which he very much isn’t _feeling._ Devils on his shoulder. Maybe he should not have the third pint.

Harry doesn’t seem to be aware of the small personal war Liam’s having, seeing as he only picks three of the pints back up, shares a look and silent conversation with Lou that Liam doesn’t even try to decipher - and tries to ignore that little prick of awareness that says that it might be about _Liam_ \- as Harry walks towards their bandmates. 

Louis settles next to him and slides one glass to Liam with a smile playing on his face. Their hands brush as he takes it and Liam swallows. It’s not an accidental touch, and he’d scold himself for it, but it’s not like Louis needed to steady the pint by keeping his hand on it, so he suspects he isn’t the only one having personal battles.

The thought makes him braver. Just a bit. 

The conversation staggers wildly between work and playstation and how Zayn would be doing better at pool if he watched what Niall was doing rather than texting Perrie when it’s not his turn. 

‘Probably be doing better if he hadn’t gotten Hazza involved,’ Liam says quietly, nudging Louis with his shoulder and very deliberately keeping his eyes on their mates across the bar, Harry folding in half to put his forehead on the wood of the table when a shot goes spectacularly in the wrong direction. Niall whoops and Zayn wags a finger at him for ruining a shot he set up. 

It’s always worth noting if you catch Louis moving slowly, so the part of Liam’s brain that keeps an eye out for nipple pinches and the like sees him turning his head, jawline stark in the low light, to look at Liam appraisingly. 

‘Yes,’ Louis says, hand on the table and finger tapping out the underlying beat of the song on the speakers. ‘If Harry had stayed over here, you mean.’ _If you hadn’t sent him over there._

‘Zayn, uh...’ Liam swallows, the excuse dying in his mouth, because that’s Louis giving him a look he can only call _aware,_ because he might have been pushing Louis right back. He’s not sure he meant to, but there’s a reason Louis has _challenge: accepted_ as his life motto, so maybe this is the only way Liam knows how to ask. He looks up at him. ‘You’re not half bad at it. Pool.’

Louis shakes his head, fingers still tapping on the table in the same beat even though the song’s changed to something entirely different. ‘I’m all right over here. If I’m not in the way of you watching Niall smash it.’ There’s a jut in his jaw that looks dangerous, like Louis is half-expecting to be sent away all of a sudden, and oh, that’s _not_ okay. 

There’s something to be said about low lighting and liquid courage and the way that Louis has his ankle hooked around Liam’s calf. Liam thinks it’s a really good idea to finish his drink and not think about the way Louis keeps _looking_ at him. And Liam’s always thought Louis had nice eyes, but he’s never quite seen them like this or thought of just how nice they were before right now. The blue of them suddenly feels much sharper than normal; laser beams, and he thinks of Louis in his Superman shirt, which makes him think of Louis’s glasses and how fit he looks in them.

Shaking his head slightly, he reaches for his beer. _No, stay._ Louis’s smile seems a little triumphant.

The beer is cool and why did Liam take so long to properly stop not drinking? He keeps thinking of the Eleventh Doctor’s line about bowties but knows that it’s probably irresponsible to be thinking it about beer. Right now, though, it’s helping his very dry throat and--

He almost spits it out and starts coughing. 

There at the bottom of the glass Louis’s face is staring up at Liam who’s coughing a little more, the beer going back down his throat, and Liam just can’t believe it. He can’t believe _them._

Blinking a bit, because some beer went up his nose, which he’ll bet is _really attractive,_ he braves a look at Louis, who looks so completely delighted with himself. It hits Liam just how ridiculous they are. They’ve been marking each other with stickers for weeks, and that’s on top of the nipple pinches and love bites and cuddles. 

‘You’re ridiculous.’ He laughs like he can’t help it, and he doesn’t think he can (so what if his nose still feels a bit fuzzy?). That or the way he’s leaning over and wrapping an arm around Louis’s neck.

Louis grins, all teeth and bright eyes. ‘Yeah, well, you love me.’ And it’s something they’ve _all_ said to each other at some point or another and it’s never any less true any time they say it except now all Liam can think is _oh, lord, I so bloody do._

Louis’s eyes have grown wide like _that_ wasn’t at all what he meant to say or how he meant to come out, soft and fragile. 

Liam wants to be smoother, clearer, better, but the words just spill out of him like beer sloshed over glass. ‘Yeah, I do.’ 

Louis is so close - his mouth is so, so close - and Liam can see how he blinks, still wide-eyed at Liam. Liam wanted Louis to grin in his face earlier, wanted him to grin fiercely, brightly, and a little filthy, and there he is: he’s glad he didn’t see it earlier, because there’s so bloody much more to it that it puts the shakes in him, if he’s honest. 

Liam’s never been one to enjoy waiting for something, and god help him, he wants _this,_ so he moves and covers Louis’s mouth with his own. He hopes Louis can appreciate his impatience.

Louis’s mouth is wet and tastes of beer and for a second he seems frozen under the hand Liam has around his neck before he’s pressing back. Liam lets out a sound that’s mostly relief, but has a healthy helping of _that thing you just did with your tongue is fascinating do it again please._ He can feel Louis’s shoulders shaking with something like suppressed laughter as he does it again, but in slow motion, deliberately, like this is any other game of Replay, and the potential ways that could go fry some circuits in Liam’s brain, if they’re letting _actions_ into the game. 

Liam’s never been more grateful for crappy pub lighting because Louis seems to want to climb into his lap, hands finding Liam’s hip and the side of his neck, and while Liam’s not opposed to the idea at all - like, scarily unopposed to the idea - he dimly registers that this might not be the ideal place to do that. 

But he doesn’t want to stop Louis either, because he’s a little afraid that the same sharp-eyed, scared look will come back, and also, he really doesn’t want Louis to stop. Maybe not, well, _ever._

His fingertips find the back of Louis’s neck by way of the line of his spine. He curls his fingers against the shorter hairs at the base of his hairline, the ones under the longer layers he sweeps up with product most days. 

It makes Louis’s head tip back with a sound that Liam wants to draw out of him again. And maybe again, after that, but slower. 

Except Liam feels Louis’s hand on his hip flatten, and the hand at his neck slides up so Louis’s hand is mostly in his hair with his thumb finding the line of Louis’s cheekbone. Louis tips his head forward, slowing the kiss, putting his forehead against Liam’s and brushing his lips lightly across Liam’s over and over, like he can’t quite stop. 

‘Well, quite,’ Louis says, voice ragged, between kisses, and Liam feels a laugh bubble up in his chest, but it doesn’t get any further, because every time Louis kisses him like he’s checking this is really happening, it’s like Liam doesn’t quite catch it in time, but he loses whatever breath is in his lungs anyway. 

Liam brings a hand up to Louis’s jaw and swallows, feeling Louis shift his weight so Liam’s hand is steadying him. Louis’s shoulders lose a bit of their height, and he swallows. ‘I don’t think I want to be in this pub anymore.’

Louis tilts his head and Liam pushes his chin out, meeting his look head on. Louis lets out a laugh and puts his forehead on Liam’s shoulder as he digs his coat out of the pile, bouncing to his feet and throwing Liam’s coat across his lap with a raised eyebrow at him as he goes. Liam suddenly realises how fucking lucky they’ve been so far because they’ve just been snogging. In a pub. Quite adamantly. He thanks the shitty lighting one more time, for luck, and slips his arms into his sleeves. 

‘Watch your own coats, lads, we’re heading out into the wilds,’ Louis says by the pool table, slipping his arm around Harry’s shoulders from behind and bumping their heads together. 

Harry gives him a grin that says he’s absolutely _dying_ to say something, but he manages to not. 

Liam catches the end of Zayn and Niall’s shared look and super subtle high five behind Niall’s back as Zayn walks to the other corner of the table. Zayn gives Liam a look and pointedly lifts the blue square of chalk to the pool cue. ‘As well you should,’ Zayn says, ‘and no bloody use to me and Harry you’ve been too. Do you know we’re looking at three games lost in a row?’

If Liam had notions of _stopping blushing any time soon,_ the way Zayn is taking a very long time to chalk the cue and looking between Louis and Liam as he does it would put paid to that in a hurry. 

Sod dignity, he thinks, and Louis has the same idea at the same time because Louis is wonderful. He grabs Liam’s elbow and turns him on his heel towards the door. 

Of course, without actual glaring to pin Harry’s mouth shut - 

‘ABOUT BLOODY TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME.’ 

Friendly pubs are _great_ things, Liam thinks forcefully, ignoring the laughter that follows them. 

-

Louis is going to _kill_ Harry. 

If he remembers. 

No, he’s going to remember, and he’s going to kill him. Maybe with the death of a thousand papercuts, which is totally a thing he heard about in one of Niall’s horrible films. He’s going to do it with a grin on his face, though, because he can’t seem to _stop._

They burst through the doors, past the home-printed signs asking them to respect the pub’s neighbours and into the cooler night air. The streets of London open before them with a chain of streetlamps sweeping into the distant curve of night. 

Liam huffs behind him. Three pints and straight to his head, the silly sausage: Louis can see Liam reaching for the loose cloth at Louis’s elbow and deliberately missing by a second on each swing, small smile turning the corners of his mouth up. 

He did drink the last one in a hurry, though. 

The memory catches up with Louis and he gulps, remembering his heart speeding up, watching Liam swallow down the beer with his head tipped back and neck moving. The sticker was haphazardly stuck to the bottom of the pint and the edges of the paper had been darkened by the condensation clinging to the glass, and Louis had wanted Liam to catch him, wanted Liam to find him in the bottom of a pint glass like a lucky coin in a Christmas pudding. 

He’d wanted that for a while. 

But walking along the streets of London, with Liam’s arm around him, pushing him into a damp hedge only to pull him back by the hand and wipe the water from rain they’d missed entirely off his nose, with Louis’s arm at Liam’s back across the quiet road with the talking traffic lights the only soundtrack, Louis feels giddy, like he just _wants._

Louis looks around the largely residential area ( _great_ shout, Sheeran) and grabs Liam by both upper arms. He’s glad they’re on the same wavelength, because Liam has both hands in the folds of Louis’s jacket collar and meets his mouth halfway. 

It’s rougher, less polished than in the pub, maybe because they’re standing and under lights, where in the pub everything was a glorious haze of Liam, the bad lighting and the table’s edge pressing into his thigh. His mouth is tender from all the kissing _(kissing!)_ and every scrape of Liam’s teeth or the chapped edge from where they’ve dried out his mouth, too, feels like it shivers down to his bones. 

‘What was that for?’ Liam asks, not letting go of his collar. 

Louis grins and pats his arm. ‘To keep us going when we have to sit like butter wouldn’t melt in a taxi for ten minutes, unless you want the driver to kick us out halfway for indecency.’

This had not occurred to Liam, clearly. His eyebrows come together with a frown and Louis jumps up to put a hand on the back of his neck, drawing Liam’s forehead down to his. 

‘Just to be absolutely clear,’ and that’s not his voice, his voice wouldn’t shake right on the edges like that, ‘I would very much like to be a bit indecent with you, Liam Payne, if you wanted to, and I’m only worried the driver would kick us out at a good bit, which would be very annoying.’

Aside from the shaking, and the kissing, he thinks he has a fair go at saying it the way he says most things, like ‘pass the salt’ and ‘let’s tell Niall there’s no ravioli left, it’ll be funny.’ 

He see’s Liam’s grin and the corners of his eyes crinkle like they do when he’s laughing his best and brightest laugh. He sorts Louis’s collar with the kind of focused care that makes Louis’s chest ache. ‘Hurry up and phone the taxi, you.’ 

Louis does just that. 

-

When Liam wakes up it’s to a face full of Louis’s hair. He groans and rolls onto his back, Louis’s arm following the turn of his body as he shuffles closer. Louis sleeps on his stomach, Liam already knew that, but in this context it’s a very different piece of knowledge. Especially with one of Louis’s legs wrapped around his and an arm over Liam’s waist. His head feels a little thick and while he’s very new to the world of hangovers this doesn’t feel like one. Not really. He just feels a little fuzzy and a lot tired still, his body feeling a little too comfortable and relaxed in a bed not his own.

Checking the time on his watch, he realises it’s 8.30am, which means his body clock gave him thirty more minutes than normal. That was nice. Louis is dead to the world next to him and it’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed (or the second or third time), but it’s the first time that...

Liam might have been tipsy but still remembers everything that happened last night. Remembers how Louis’s mouth fit over his and his fingers curled against Liam’s hips. How bright his eyes were and how that grin - that incredibly filthy, wonderful grin Liam could have never imagined _feeling_ \- pressed against his own.

And he knows he should be freaking out over kissing Louis in a pub _in public, twice,_ and not at all as joke, but he … isn’t. It had just felt like the thing to do and even now, it still feels like the thing to do, being with Louis, _wanting_ Louis. 

The fact that Louis seems to want him back--

Liam bites his lip.

Stretching, he rubs at his jaw, feeling the stubble and wincing a bit when his hand brushes against the lovebite Louis had sucked into his skin. He already feels too lazy to shave and too giddy over everything else. He grins at the memory of Louis pouting over the fact that the first time he was getting Liam properly in-bed-and-everything-that-means they weren’t even going to have sex.

The thought makes him blush a little but mostly it makes him warm all over. It’s not that they hadn’t wanted to - they’re lads they always _want_ to - but by the time they had fallen into bed, giddy, half drunk, and still kissing it was as if the last two weeks had caught up with them and their kisses had slowed into comfortable, lazy, soft sliding of lips almost by a shared understanding, and a promised of more, of _we don’t have to rush, I’ll be here in the morning, and the one after._

Liam adjusts himself, squirming on the bed. Louis mumbles a string of sleepy sounds and kicks him a little.

 _So ridiculous,_ Liam thinks, turning to face Louis, who has half his face plastered on his pillow and thank God Louis is still sleeping because the smile he feels stretch across his face must be just as ridiculous. He’d never live it down. (Part of him is scarily okay with that.)

And as much as he’d like to go back to sleep and cuddle his body is telling him that it’s 8.50 on a Friday morning, which means it’s a weekday, and he needs to get up. Liam starts doing so grudgingly until he remembers he had his bag with him too and jumps - okay, more like gingerly rises so he doesn’t wake Louis - from the bed because he almost forgot what he had stashed in there. 

Some tea would be nice, too. Maybe he’ll even toast up some bread.

-

The buzzing by his cheek wakes him up and Louis grumbles, blinking, because ugh his eyes hurt and of course they do, he forgot to take out his contacts, which he always does after drinking and you would think he’d know better by now, wouldn’t you? He’s twenty-bloody-one, practically ancient.

Pushing that horrible thought out of his head, he rubs at his eyes, blinking for moisture and realises his phone is still buzzing which considering the time - too fucking early - and he went out with the lads last night, he honestly can’t think of anyone who’d call him this early. Even his mother wouldn’t - being the opposite of a morning person is in their genetics - so really, who the hell is calling?

And where the hell is Liam? 

Louis might have been a bit drunker than Liam last night, but he remember all the important bits that went down and he definitely remembers Liam shucking off his jumper and jeans and climbing into bed with him. Pouting, Louis looks to the side of the bed Liam is _supposed to be in_ and wonders where the hell he’s gone off to when he’s supposed to be cuddling Louis. Moving over to it, he sighs because at least it’s still Liam-warm and he can smell Liam’s aftershave on the pillow and sheets, if you know, Louis were the type to sniff at linen. 

If it were anyone else but Liam Louis would be in danger of thinking they’d run off, but. It’s Liam. He probably just got up, which is so wrong on so many levels since it’s their day off, he’s probably a bit hungover, and Louis likes morning cuddles. (Louis likes all the cuddles.)

It would have been nice if he had left a note telling Louis where he went off to. Maybe with some atrocious spelling (a given) and a rose (less of a given seeing as Louis is sure he’s got no flowers at all in his flat). 

His phone buzzes annoyingly loudly again. 

_Fine_! He fumbles for the phone and GAH!

He has to blink about a _million_ times because he just suffered a brain seizure. It’s the only way to explain what happened between his eyes and brain at the moment before he refocused on his phone, which is covered in overly bright, sparkly and too, too shiny glittery stars. For a second he legitimately fears that he lost his phone last night and has picked up some random person’s, which would be _epic_ on the levels of problems he could have, except he turns the monstrous, brain freezing, sparkle bomb thing over and:

_Payner: morningg starrrrrrshineeeeeeee!!!!!_

_Payner: wakkkkkee up!_

And Louis is so bloody glad he’s in the room alone at that moment because never will he admit the utterly goofy smile that blooms on his face and the eruption of laughter that follows, like it couldn’t be controlled, which was a mistake, because his head absolutely disagrees. 

‘Ugh,’ he rolls over in his bed and buries his face in a pillow because his cheeks are hurting from the smile that just won’t go away but mostly his hangover. He will swear to that on pain of death. Rolling back, he squints, eyes still hurting from the shiny sparkles and types out quickly:

_You are evil. Bring me food._

_No tea? Okay then._

_ALL of the tea._

He’s about to toss the phone back to the other side of the bed when he stops, considers, and grins. 

-

@Louis_Tomlinson: you are a menace @Real_Liam_Payne

@Real_Liam_Payne: @Louis_Tomlinson u r a starrrrrrrrrrrr. shnnyyyyy shinyyyy star.

-

‘Tell them all to stop retweeting you! I am _delicate_ and the alerts are horrible even with the filter thing-!’ Louis shouts to Liam’s approaching footsteps. Liam grins and waits, shifting the cups to get a better balance on the tray. ‘You’re not going to help me with this, are you.’ His voice is quieter, so either shouting had hurt his poor little head, or he’s assuming Liam’s made it back to the bedroom door by now. 

‘You’re incredibly demanding in the mornings, d’you know that?’ Liam says, walking back into the room, tray in hand. Louis grins at the picture he presents and makes grabby hands. Liam’s not sure if Louis means Liam himself or tea.

People have always told Liam he’s something of an optimist. 

The tea gets cold.


End file.
